


The Hit Man

by Lusciousinpain



Series: Hot Spies In Love [7]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Sex, Barebacking, Biting, Blow Jobs, Domestic Fluff, Drugging, FBI, Fingering, M/M, Marking, Men in love, Minor Character Death, Mystery character - Freeform, Revelations, Rimming, Spies, Suspense, Switching, Top Castiel, Top Dean, abductions, secrets and lies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-23
Updated: 2019-09-21
Packaged: 2020-10-24 08:21:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20702870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lusciousinpain/pseuds/Lusciousinpain
Summary: He winces, he pants, because he's in agony, and he should be, he's seriously hurt: mouth full of blood, several broken ribs, and a body coated in sweat. But it's no surprise he feels this way, it's only been thirty eight hours since he scraped and crawled his way from the scene of his greatest defeat, in pain, in fear for his life, and aching for revenge. And he means to get it, too, on all of them - the Miltons, the FBI, but especially the Winchesters; he's been plotting on how to exact his vengeance against them, almost from the moment he regained consciousness.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Here's the next installment of my beloved 'Hot Spies In Love' series. Sorry it took so long to post these next few chapters, but there was so much going on in my life (lawsuits people, very traumatic) that I only recently found the time to focus, edit, and finally post. 
> 
> Heh, after that build up, it better be good, right?
> 
> In this episode, we find our heroes tasked with new obstacles, divining surprising revelations, and tackling new foes. Always with a bit of porn thrown in for kicks. 
> 
> So without further ado, here you go, and I sincerely hope you enjoy it!!

It's 2am

A grunt, a hiss, then the distinctive click of a steel pin turning in a metal lock.

"Gonna get you-"

A snarl, a sneer.

"Gonna make you beg-"

A sharp inhale, a breathless exhale.

"Gonna make you wish you were never born."

Finally, the stubborn top lock gives way, and former FBI agent Gordon Walker (currently at the top of the FBI's most wanted list) collapses against the Winchester's back door. 

He winces, he pants, because he's in agony, and he should be, he's seriously hurt: mouth full of blood, several broken ribs, and a body coated in sweat. But it's no surprise he feels this way, it's only been thirty eight hours since he scraped and crawled his way from the scene of his greatest defeat:in pain, in fear for his life, and aching for revenge. And he means to get it, too, on all of them - the Miltons, the FBI, but especially the Winchesters; he's been plotting on how to exact his vengeance against them, almost from the moment he regained consciousness. 

"Just one more twist-" he mutters, picking at the last spring, then slumping in relief when he hears the tell-tale sound of the door unlocking. He twists the knob, careful not to make a sound, then- 

"Mr. Winchester?"

Gordon freezes on the spot, looks over his shoulder, and grins, "Who wants to know?" He asks, reaching for his gun, Dean's gun actually, the Glock 22 Bobby personally issued Dean upon his graduation from the academy.

"Which one," the tall, slim man asks, closely studying Gordon, "Sam or Dean?"

Obviously the weasel has no idea what the Winchester brothers look like, so Gordon plays along, curious as to what this new player wants. "FBI agent...Dean Winchester," he smiles, all teeth and shark like, "but you can call me, Dean." 

"Dean?" The taller man repeats, doubt creasing his brow, "...Winchester?" 

"Yeah," Gordon nods along, gun inching out. 

"I see." The other man replies, regarding Gordon for a long beat, because he's still uncertain. But then he notes the unlocked door in Gordon's hand, Dean's gun in the other, and with the efficiency of motion that would impress even Castiel, disarms Gordon, breaks his neck with one blow, then drags his lifeless body, into the night. 

...

"It took you twenty four hours to get their stuff?" Sam asks, checking his watch, but then he frowns. "Gabe, didn't we hear them come in last night?"

Gabriel shrugs, takes a bite of his apple. "I thought we did." 

"That's strange." Sam shakes his head, confused, because he definitely heard the back door unlocking. 

"Musta been raccoons, or something." Gabriel shrugs again, munching away.

"Guess so." Sam agrees, then drops the matter in order to pursue a much more entertaining line of questioning. "So," he starts, grin growing wide, "I didn't realize picking up Gabe and Castiel's things meant you two would be spending the entire night at...Gabe, what was the name of that inn, again?"

"Cockels Love Inn." Gabriel replies, grinning with his mouth full.

"Cockels Love Inn!" Sam repeats, eyes sparkling, having a great time because teasing Dean is so much fun. "Seriously, Dean? Cockles? I mean, could you be more obvious-"

"Shut it." Dean snaps back, but with no real bite. He walks past his brother and smacks him over the head, but his smile is big and genuine and he feels like he could conquer the world. "Right then," he announces, clapping his hands together, taking a deep breath and his chest puffs up, "so did you two get everything I asked for?"

"Whad'ya think of Jensen?" Gabriel asks, ignoring Dean's question while pointing his apple core at his chest. "And did Misha remind you of anybody you know?"

"Huh?" Dean frowns at Gabriel, quirks a brow at Castiel. "What the hell is it with you two and that creepy couple?" 

Dean still doesn't understand what's so special about them, other than the fact that in another world he and Castiel could be exactly like them. And Dean would love that, too. A lot. But the only way he and Castiel will get their own slice of 'nirvana', is by getting back to business; Dean is desperate to move past this case so he and Castiel can start living their lives without the horrors of their past, intruding on their future.

"Can we please get serious now?" Dean asks, squeezing Castiel's hand above the table, a blatant show of affection that Sam and Gabriel can clearly see. Dean dares them to comment with a glare, and when they don't, he squeezes Castiel's hand again, and harrumphs. "Good. Now," he resumes, thumb absently stroking calloused skin, "last night, Cas and I spent a lotta time-" 

"Whoa! TMI Dean-o!"

"Grow up Gabriel!"

"Gabe," Sam laughs, eyes absolutely dancing; he's so happy for his brother, "leave Dean alone. And besides," he whispers, but loud enough so both Dean and Castiel can hear, "we'll torture them about that," he nods at their clasped hands, and smirks, "later."

"Heh," Gabriel chuckles, rubbing his hands like a villain, "I'll brush up on my material, then-"

"Settle down Gabe." Castiel places his free hand on top of Dean's, adds with a smile he cannot fight, "We have a plan to discuss." 

"Oh-kay..." Gabriel says. "But it'll have to wait."

"The hell for?" Dean wants to know. 

"We have an appointment."

"No you don't-"

"Yes we do." Castiel says and Dean's head whips around.

"Huh?" He asks, and Castiel sighs, then explains.

"Dean, between everything that's happened, I completely forgot that Gabriel and I have an appointment in..." He checks his watch, and exhales, "half an hour, with Chief Singer."

"Skip it."

"What?" Gabriel can't believe what Dean is suggesting. "Are you nuts? We can't blow Singer off. He'll kill us. And Mike and Luke too." He looks imploringly at his brother, then inspiration strikes, "I know, come with us. We can tell Bobby all about our 'mystery' person theory, and you can tell me and Sammy all about your great plan-" 

"Oh, hell no!"

"Why not?"

"Because the agency has been infiltrated. We don't know who we can trust."

"We can trust Singer."

"Yeah, we can." Dean agrees, but he's still shaking his head no. "Bobby will never go along with it. He'll just shoot us down-"

"Phfft," Gabriel scoffs, dismissing Dean's concerns with a wave of his hand, "no he won't. He'll want to help."

"Gabriel, we're not telling him-"

"But you should." Gabriel turns to Sam, pleads, "Sammy, tell Dean we should let Singer in on it."

But Sam doesn't think it's a good idea either. "Dean's right, Gabe. Bobby will just try to stop us." 

"Oh come on." Gabriel looks up at the ceiling, chooses his next words carefully, then turns to his brother. "Cassie, you know it's the right call. We'll need all the help we can get. This fight is gonna be a doozy. And we'll have a heck of a better shot of winning it, with Singer and the feds on our side."

"I..." Castiel knows his brother has a valid point, that they'll fare far better if they combine their pitiful numbers with the FBI's massive force, but can the FBI be trusted? And even if Singer does agree to join them, they'll have to wade through miles and miles of needless red-tape before they're even allowed to issue any warrants. "We can't afford to waste anymore time." 

"Fine." Gabriel huffs, disappointed, because he knows he's lost. 

Or has he? 

"If you say so. But," he adds, walking out of the room and calling over his shoulder, "we're still keeping our appointment with him."


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This _is_ bad, and dangerous, and if it keeps going on, only going to get worse.
> 
> Especially for Dean.
> 
> So as much as Bobby would like to bark at both agents to keep their relationship professional, he schools his features and bites his tongue.
> 
> At least for the time being.

"You're joining forces?"

"Yeah." Gabriel nods, dodging three sets of stormy glowers after blabbing everything he learned about Dean and Castiel's 'great' plan, the moment he stepped into the chief's office; there was just no way he was going to let anyone (not even his boyfriend or his own brother) jeopardize Michael and Luke's freedom.

"It's the craziest plan I've ever heard." Bobby barks, practically pulling at his beard, he's so upset. 

"Boss, I know it sounds..." Gabriel looks to Sam, gets no help from him, and shrugs, "reckless. But it'll work."

"Work? Only if you get your precious brothers to cooperate."

"They will-"

"No they won't!" Bobby fires back. "Because they haven't! Not now! Not ever! And last I heard," he snarls, chest heaving, not because he's furious, but because he's scared for them all, "those two are willing do let the world go up in flames before they lift a finger to help any of us!" 

"Yeah," Gabriel whistles, hands stuffed in his pockets, "that does sound like Mike and Luke."

"And, if that weren't bad enough," Bobby says, face turning an alarming shade of purple, "your genius plan involves Dean getting kidnapped! Again! Guess almost dying three times didn't teach you bunch of idjits anything?"

"Bobby-" 

"Boy," Bobby points to Sam, silences him with a glare, "I thought you had better sense than this." 

"It'll be different this time. We'll be calling the shots-" 

"No you won't!" Bobby argues, pointing at Dean. "Because you'll be too busy tracking down Walker. And _if_ he is Crowley's stool pigeon-"

"He is."

Bobby looks sharply at Castiel, exhales, "Fine, agent Walker _is_ an informant for Crowley. But as such," he stresses, "also your top priority. Which means you four need to find him and bring him in." 

"No we don't."

"I'm sorry," Bobby rounds on Dean, hackles raised, "did I say 'pretty please'?" 

"Dean's right." Sam rises from his seat, stands by his brother's side, and stares Bobby down. "Gordon was just a snitch and an errand boy, bottom rung on the ladder. He's probably already on the run."

"We need to find out who's pulling Crowley's strings." Dean adds, grateful for his brother's support, especially since Bobby is more likely to join their cause if he thinks Sam's behind it. "We gotta hunt them down. Eliminate the threat." 

"Dean," Bobby says, tone reasonable, "we have to take this one step at a time. Okay? Or we're liable to miss something." 

"We've already have." Dean grits, punching his fist, "Come on, Bobby, don't you want to catch the guys responsible for dad's death?"

"Your father killed himself."

"You know he didn't." Dean shoots back, hurt, outraged, because how dare Bobby; John Winchester may have had many faults, but nevertheless, he was devoted to his sons, a great agent, and was _not_ suicidal. 

"Damn it." Bobby steps away from his desk, walks to a large metal filing cabinet, and pulls out an envelope. "This here is what your daddy was working on when he..." Bobby swallows, exhales, hands Dean the envelope, then falls back into his seat.

Dean opens the envelop, pulls out a brown leather journal, and Sam's jaw drops. "That's dad's journal." Sam gasps, taking the journal from Dean, and handling it as if it were a priceless relic. "We looked for it all over his house. But you had it all along."

"Yeah, but with good reason." 

"What kind of reason?" Sam asks, staring wide eyed at the chief, wounded to his core, while Dean glowers. "Why would you keep this from us?" 

"Bobby." Dean grits, jaw clenched. "Sam asked you a question."

"I heard him." Bobby grits right back, taking a long hard look at each man, then standing back up. "None of that," he says, voice gruff, waving at the journal, "was admissible. John's proof was circumstantial, at best. And his theories...well," Bobby takes his seat again, pulls out a flask from his drawer, and takes a long pull. "Let's just say he sounded...unhinged. Even Charles Milton had a hard time believing him."

"It says here," Sam reads, clearly in shock, "that Charles Milton filed a complaint against dad. And that if he didn't cease and desist his harassment immediately, Charles Milton would file a restraining order against him. He'd ruin dad's career." Sam looks at Bobby, at Dean, back at Bobby, and asks, "How did we not know about any of this?"

"No body knew about any of that." Bobby says, rubbing at his temples. 

"So you buried it."

"More like I wanted to personally investigate what your father was up to." He explains. "I wanted to know why Chuck Milton was so damn nervous."

"Looks like all you had to do was read this." Dean snarls, fed up with all of the secrets and lies, tossing the journal back on Bobby's desk, but Gabriel picks it up, and with Castiel by his side, starts reading.

"'I have uncovered damning evidence that the pyromaniac, Les Holly, aka, 'Azazel'," Gabriel quotes, "was specifically hired by a Milton family member to exterminate a federal agent.'" Gabriel mumbles a few more lines, frowns, "This is weird." Then says, "Apparently, John interrogated one of dad's top lieutenants." He looks to Castiel, asks, "you think he meant Crowley?" And Castiel nods, because who else could it have been. 

"Yes." He replies. "Crowley was father's most trusted officer. And a lier."

"True dat." Gabriel huffs, then reads further along, "John wrote that this 'top lieutenant' swore to him that Azazel was personally hired by our dad, to kill him." 

"No freaking way." Dean says, and Castiel couldn't be more relieved; just because he knows his father would never associate with a psychopath like Azazel (let alone hire him to strike down his friend) doesn't mean Dean does. 

"How can you be sure?" Sam asks, and Gabriel winces, as if stung.

"Because they were friends." Dean replies, and Gabriel nods.

"Friends?" Sam shakes his head, because Dean's got this one wrong. "Dean, we know now that Crowley's the one behind...everything. But at the time, dad didn't. He spent the bulk of his career investigating the Miltons. Not being their friend."

"Yeah, he did." Dean agrees. "But I think that's what he wanted everyone to believe. In fact, I believe dad was protecting Chuck and his kids the whole time. I bet dad knew Chuck had nothing to do with Azazel or mom's death. And that whoever was responsible, was still after him, and also after Chuck." 

"Now I'm really confused."

"Look," Dean says, "I know it doesn't make sense, but those two were...close. They were friends."

"How do you know that?" 

"I heard them talking-"

Sam frowns, asks, "When exactly were you in the same room as them?" 

"Actually, it was you and me that heard them talking. And we weren't exactly in the same room. We were in the next room. And before you go asking when that was," Dean says, hands up, because he already knows what Sam is going to ask, "it was a long time ago. Okay. And you were little, and crying your eyes out, so you're not going to remember."

"But I do." Gabriel says, shocking Sam and Bobby, but not Castiel, because he was there too. "That was the first time I saw you two." Gabriel says, giving Sam a small smile. "You were both sitting in that big black car, and Dean had this pissed-off look on his face, and little Sammy," Gabriel gulps, "little Sammy was really upset."

"And you gave me a lollipop." Sam says, the memory coming back, full force. "And I stopped crying."

"Yeah," Dean huffs, but he's smiling too, "real touching." He says, it's sarcastic and snarky, but he's happy Gabriel is with his brother.

A cough from across the desk, and they all fall silent. "You were saying?" Bobby prods, looking from Gabriel to Sam, from Dean to Castiel, and his lips purse, because this could be bad. 

"Ah, yeah..." Dean says, scratching at his stubble, "where was I?" 

"You were going to tell us what our fathers discussed." Castiel says, steering Dean back on track, and Dean could just kiss him for it.

"Ah, yeah. I think they were talking about mom."

"Our mom?" Sam repeats and Dean nods.

"That's right." Dean smiles, but his brow is furrowed. "I remember dad thanking Chuck and telling him that he was going to pay him back. And Chuck mentioned mom's name a couple of times. Heard him tell dad he loved her too. Then a couple of days after that meeting," Dean grins, meeting Castiel's eyes again, and Castiel smiles back, "Azazel was found dead. Or so they presumed, since they only found his arms and legs." 

"That's why John's entries didn't make any sense to me." Bobby cuts in. "I knew John and Chuck had a history. A complicated one, sure, but a friendly one too. That's why I didn't believe Chuck hired Azazel to kill John. Not that first time, and not the night I found your father's body either. That's why I thought John-"

"-killed himself." Sam supplies, and Bobby exhales, drags a hand through his hair. 

"Yeah," the Chief replies, low and morose, "but I didn't want to believe it. So I didn't. I wanted to blame someone. I wanted answers. Then I remembered Chuck's threat about that damn restraining order, and I thought I had him. So I hightailed straight to-"

"My father's house." Castiel answers for him, because he was there when Bobby arrived. "I remember you storming in," Castiel tells Bobby, tone dipping dangerously low, "wielding your gun at me, at my brothers. You weren't there to ask questions." 

It's a fact, and Bobby has the decency to drop his eyes. "No I wasn't." He admits, meeting Castiel's eyes again, "I knew better, but I convinced myself that John's death was your father's doing, and for that, I'm sorry." 

"Heh," Gabriel says, recalling the events of that god awful, "part of us thought that too-"

"But now we know it was Crowley. We have proof." Sam says, tapping a finger on the journal.

"Sam, he's not mentioned by name-"

"Doesn't matter." Sam pleads, argues, "'Top lieutenant'?" He repeats, convinced he's right about this. "It was definitely Crowley."

"It's circumstantial, inadmissible, no use to us without actual names or photos. It's just not enough." 

"It is for me."

"Dean, I know you want justice for your father-"

"For Chuck too." Dean grits, standing behind a seated Castiel, placing a comforting hand on his lover's shoulder, and Castiel leans into Dean's touch.

_'Aw, fuck.'_ Bobby thinks, because everything just got a heck of a lot more complicated.

This _is_ bad, and dangerous, and if it keeps going on, only going to get worse.

Especially for Dean.

So as much as Bobby would like to bark at both agents to keep their relationship professional, he schools his features and bites his tongue.

At least for the time being.

"Both deaths are definitely linked." Castiel says, oblivious to Bobby's new reason to worry. "Killed by the same hand, most likely. But whereas Crowley was solely responsible for John's murder, it appears a third player was responsible for my father's. Someone powerful enough to usurp my father's authority, orchestrate his death, yet keep his own identify a mystery."

"Well," Bobby snarls, surly and sarcastic, "isn't that just peachy."

"Dad tried warning Chuck about that." Sam says, taking John's journal back and clutching it to his chest. "But why threaten him?"

"Because Chuck thought John was accusing his boys." Bobby answers, looking over at Gabriel, eyeballing Castiel. "He did not appreciate his sons being threatened. Especially after Castiel nearly got himself killed going after Azazel-"

"Whoa!" Dean spins Castiel in his seat, grabs him by the shoulders. "That piece of shit nearly killed you? Are, are you okay?"

Castiel smiles up at Dean, adoration in his eyes. "I'm fine, Dean."

"How the hell did he even get near you?"

"I was new." Castiel confesses, embarrassed he nearly botched up his first assignment, but nonetheless overjoyed with Dean's reaction, "I was inexperienced and cocky, and Azael was...he was very clever." Castiel exhales, drops his eyes, and Dean can't stop staring, enraptured with the shadow of Castiel's lashes as they flutter across his cheeks. "He quite literally caught me off guard, Dean. But trust me," he adds softly, confidentially, as if he and Dean were all alone and didn't have three extra sets of ears listening to every word they spoke, "he got the worst of it."

"I bet he did." Dean says, grinning because he knows every horrific detail of Azazel death. "Still," he mutters, voice gone hoarse, emotions on overload when he considers all that Castiel has done for them, for him, "you and me, are gonna discuss this later."

"Okay," Sam announces, anxious to wrap this up so they can all get started on their mission. "can we get back on topic? We still need to discuss the logistics of the plan, decide which position each one of us is going to secure, the weapons we'll need, the time frame-"

"The weapons and equipment," Bobby cuts in, gruff, grumpy, and grizzled, "and whatever else you need, you can take from supply. I'll take care of the paper work." 

Sam smiles, brushes his long hair from his brow, and hands back his father's journal. "You're really helping us, Bobby?" 

"Yep." Bobby replies, opening John's journal and carefully leafing through the weathered pages. He snorts, mutters passages under his breath, then looks up and huffs, "Only way to make sure you idgits don't get yourselves killed."

...

"Dean, a word." 

All four men stop at the exit, Dean and Castiel share a look, then Dean tosses the Impala's keys to Sam, closes the office door behind them, and turns back to Bobby. "What I'd do wrong now?" He says, tone tight, body tense, defenses up, because he has a pretty good idea what this is about. 

"Damn it." Bobby mutters, because he was afraid of this; Dean's shields are already up, and that's going to make his job a hell of a lot tougher. But what he's got to say needs saying, and if saving Dean means fully exposing Castiel for what he really is, then so be it. "Look," he starts, pulling a seat for Dean.

"N'ah," Dean replies, arms crossed at his chest, "I'll stand."

"Suite yourself." Bobby says, wishing this was already over. He sits, hands steepled, and starts, "Dean, I know it's none of my business, and you know I don't like to meddle in your private life-"

"Are you shitting me?" Dean squawks, because it's the funniest thing he's ever heard. "Since when?"

"Look here," Bobby snarls, but then he takes a deep breath, simmers down, and tries again. "This thing between you and agent Milton is-"

"_Wrong_." Dean snarls back, finishing for Bobby. "Yeah, I know. And I also know that you've never approved of my...choices. It's why you didn't put me in charge of this case."

"Put you in charge?" Bobby laughs, but there's no humor in it. "Boy, after the stunt you pulled, you're lucky I didn't strip you of your badge!"

"Stunt?" Dean bites back, hands fisted. "Is that what you're calling my preferences?" 

Bobby stares at Dean as if he's grown a second head. "What the hell are you even talking about?"

"My preferences, Bobby. My choices. About the fact that I like...men."

"Damn it Dean," Bobby slumps in his seat, rubs at his grizzled cheek as if slapped, "how could you think so little of me? I don't care if you like men. Or what you do in private. But I do care about you."

That's not the answer Dean was expecting, and he flounders. But he quickly finds his voice again, because he has to know. "Then why hand over _my_ case to Sam?"

Bobby laughs, a dry bark, "Because you're reckless." He states, and Dean frowns, because it's true. "Because you shoot first and ask questions later. Because you disobeyed direct orders."

"Bobby, I didn't-"

"Because you went after that maniac Alistair, by yourself, when I specifically ordered you not to." 

"I didn't think-"

"No you didn't."

"Look, I've learned my lesson. Okay. You don't have to worry about me-" 

"Damn it, Dean!" Bobby slams his fist against the desk top, shouts, "Don't tell me not to worry about you!" 

"But-"

"But nothing!" Bobby gets up, strides right up to Dean, and jabs him in the chest. "Especially when it concerns your safety." 

"Jesus Bobby-"

"Castiel Milton is dangerous!"

Dean takes a step back and his face grows hard, eyes cold, unflinching, and Bobby grows angrier. "You know I'm right." Bobby spits, grabbing Dean by the forearm.

But Dean tears his arm away. "That why you recruited him?" He counters, and Bobby drops his eyes; Castiel's deadly skills may not be the main reason the FBI reached out to him, but they're definitely in the top three.

"He's a natural born killer." Bobby explains, pointing out the obvious. "He's good at killing people-"

"Not people," Dean snarls back, "monsters, Bobby. Cas just wants to rid the planet of every evil sonsofbitch."

Bobby scoffs, dismisses Dean's pathetically romantic claim, and takes back his seat. "You know damn well what I mean." He says, pointing to a chair, and this time, Dean takes it. "Now listen, Charles Milton raised Castiel to be the perfect assassin. A man as detached from human emotion as Michael and Lucifer are from...reality."

Dean wants to tell Bobby that he's wrong, that Castiel is more, so much more, than what his family, or the FBI, made him out to be. But Bobby has already made up his mind about Castiel, so Dean holds his tongue and hears him out. 

"But that ain't all." Bobby adds, and Dean steels himself, ready for the worst. "I suspect, no, I know, Castiel Milton enjoys killing people." 

But Dean already knows this about Castiel - it's one of the things he loves about him - and a smile spreads across his face. 

"He has no qualms, no moral compass, never questions an order, it's like...like he wants to kill." Bobby takes a breath, gauges Dean's reaction, sees his smile widen, the glow of admiration in his eyes instead of the concern or the fear he had hoped for, and sneers, "Boy, are you even hearing me?"

"Yeah."

"Well, from where I'm standing, it don't look like you're understanding jack-shit." 

Dean doesn't argue, because Bobby is right, but he's also way off base. "Bobby," he says, letting out a deep breath, "I know you're worried-"

"Worried? Is that all you've taken away from this little pow-wow?" Bobby slams his desk drawer, sneer visible despite his beard, but then he sits back, takes a deep breath, and says, "Dean, a couple of years back, Castiel was kidnapped." His tone is reflective, contemplative, matter of fact, and scares the shit out of Dean. "It was by some woman, April something or other, and from what I heard, she carved him up pretty bad. Broke multiple bones, nearly blinded him, too. He would have died if-"

"Wait a second." Dean rubs at his face, tugs at his hair. "You're telling me Cas was nearly killed again? Christ," he exhales, looking up at the ceiling, "how many times does that make, now?" 

"I lost count." Bobby replies, glad to finally get a reaction from Dean, even though it's not the one he was hoping for. But at least that infuriating 'moon-eyed-love-sick' expression he's been sporting all day, is gone.

Dean runs both hands through is hair, doesn't even bother to hide the fact that they're shaking. "Is she..."

"Dead?" Bobby snorts, "You bet she is. And it was at Michael's own hand, too."

Dean nods because it makes sense: if anybody ever hurts Sam, Dean would hurt them right back. 

"Turns out," Bobby stresses, emphasizing the brutality of what happened, "Michael took his time and tortured the girl. And it wasn't even to find out who sent her. It was just..." He shrugs, a _'there you have it'_ gesture, "...because she hurt his baby brother." 

"Guess she got what she deserved." Dean responds, cold as ice and deadly serious, beyond pleased that Castiel's assailant suffered to the end.

"Is that really what you believe?" Bobby asks, more alarmed than surprised. "That's not our way, Dean. How _that_ family runs itself, that's not us, okay. We deal in justice. We know right from wrong. We-"

"Could take a lesson from them." Dean grits back, and Bobby knows he means it.

"Getting mixed up with them is a mistake, Dean. That whole family is dangerous. And Castiel... probably the most dangerous one. He'll tear you down, boy. Bring you nothing but heartbreak. And, what the hell is so funny?"

"Everything." Dean chuckles, turning for the door. "For a minute there, it sounded like you were describing me." He turns the knob, looks over his shoulder, matches Bobby's concerned glower with his own unimpressed smirk, and tells him, "You know, you were right about one thing, this isn't any of your business." 

...

Dean is in the driver seat of the Impala, minutes later. 

"Bobby chew you out?" Sam asks, smug smile aimed at his brooding brother. 

"He tried." Dean growls back, but his own smile soon resurfaces now that he's back with his family. "Tried to scare me away from seeing Cas by telling me a bunch of scary shit I already know." Dean looks in the rear view mirror, catches Castiel's eye, and holds it for a beat before swiveling in his seat and facing him. "But," he adds, and Castiel gulps, "he did tell me one thing I didn't know. Cas, who the hell is April?"

A sharp intake of breath and all eyes are on Gabriel. 

"Gabe?"

Gabriel looks over at Sam, Dean, then Castiel. "Ah-"

"I wanna hear it from Cas." Dean orders, and Gabriel's mouth snaps shut. 

"Of course." Castiel replies, fully committed to telling Dean everything he wants to know. "But perhaps it's a story better shared at...home?" 

_"Home."_ Dean repeats the beloved word, rolls it over his tongue, and finds it's never sounded so sweet. "Yeah," he grins, turning back to the wheel and starting the engine, "let's go home."


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Whoa." Sam says, hand to his mouth while Dean sets flour, spices, and a pie plate, on top of the counter. "Are you making...pie?" He asks, gob-smacked.
> 
> "Dude," Dean answers back, tutting while handing Castiel a bowl full of apples and a carving knife, "you don't _make_ pie, you _bake_ it." 

They make a quick pit stop at the local grocer for dinner supplies (and more toiletries for Gabriel) before heading home. Once there, they store the groceries, head to their respective bedrooms to 'freshen up', and agree to start dinner in fifteen minutes. But fifteen minutes pass, then half an hour, and after forty-five minutes, Dean and Castiel finally make it back to the kitchen.

"Mmmm..." Dean hums, ravenous after a rushed, but very satisfying, hand job. "You remember to finely mince the garlic for the sauce?" He asks Sam. 

And Sam laughs, nods towards a throughly disheveled Castiel, and counters, "You remember to rinse out your mouth?" 

"Har-har." Dean snarks back, smacking Sam good-naturedly over the head on his way to the refrigerator. He takes out two beers, hands one to Castiel, and they clink bottle necks. "I notice you're freshly showered." He remarks, noting both Sam and Gabriel's wet hair. 

"Touché." Sam grins, reaching for his own beer, taking a long pull, then asking Dean, "You cooking something else?" 

"Huh?" Dean answers, back facing Sam while he rummages through the cabinets. 

"Dinner's almost done." 

But Dean isn't listening. 

"Whoa." Sam says, hand to his mouth while Dean sets flour, spices, and a pie plate, on top of the counter. "Are you making...pie?" He asks, gob-smacked.

"Dude," Dean answers back, tutting while handing Castiel a bowl full of apples and a carving knife, "you don't _make_ pie, you _bake_ it." 

Sam rolls his eyes, but his smile is huge. "What's the occasion?"

"No occasion." Dean shrugs, pulling out a rolling pin. "Just feel like having some homemade pie for dessert. What's the big deal?"

"None." Sam lies, because it is a big deal. The biggest, in fact. "Just that you only ever make pie when you're, you know, in a good mood, or...celebrating."

Dean's brow furrows, hands busy mixing ingredients. "What the hell are you talking about. We always have pie."

"Not homemade." Sam counters, turning back to his sauce. "Last time we had homemade pie was when you bought this house. That was eight years ago." He looks over his shoulder, watches Dean work for a beat, and all at once realizes how much he's missed _this_. "The time before that," he resumes, not done making his point, "was when I graduated the academy. And the time before that was..." He pauses, thinks about it for a bit, then shakes his head, "heh, I can't remember a time before that."

"That's because you were too young to remember." Dean tells him, recalling memories of their mother baking pies every weekend, with a four year old Dean helping by her side.

"Yeah," Sam smiles, swallowing the lump in his throat, knowing exactly what his big brother is remembering, "guess I was."

"Hey," Dean says, addressing Sam but looking over at Castiel; the assassin's head is bowed and his brow is furrowed, deep in concentration, while his talented hands gracefully peel the apples, "if you want," he swallows, heart growing too big for his chest, "I can bake more often."

"I'd like that." Sam replies, hoping beyond hope that their new found joy, lasts. 

... 

"So you never found out who sent April?" Dean asks Castiel. "Never found out who hired her?" 

"Dean," Sam cuts in, "what does April have to do with any of this?" 

"Maybe everything." Dean replies, but Sam still doesn't see it. 

"We get that dad and Chuck were targeted by the same mystery person." Sam says, starting the dishwasher then rejoining them at the table. "But how does Castiel's kidnapping fit in?"

Dean turns to Castiel, and Castiel braces; he knows what's coming next. "How exactly did April manage to kidnap you?" 

"I trusted her." Castiel replies, quick and without filters. "But she drugged me. It was a miscalculation-"

"Miscalculation?" That doesn't sound right. Dean leans in, lips brushing the soft swell of Castiel's ear, "When we first got together," he whispers, warm breath making the small hairs on Castiel's arms stand on end, "you barely gave me the time of day, let alone drop your guard." 

And there it is: Castiel's massive blunder thrown in his face by the one person he respects the most. 

"Unless..." Dean sits back up, smiling, but it's sad, wounded, and Castiel couldn't hate himself more, if he tried, "unless she was more than just a random hook-up." He concludes, because its what he's suspected all along, what he's dreaded. "Unless she was someone...special-"

"No," Castiel blurts, desperate for Dean to understand, "she was...available, and I...I was young, and over confident-"

"And," Gabriel chimes in, "horny and mopey. Remember? You were going through a major dry spell at the time, and then a couple of days before that psycho got her hooks into you, you started acting all suspicious and evasive. More than usual," he laughs, taunting Castiel, and Castiel glowers. 

"You mean Cas didn't bring her home to meet the folks?" Dean jokes, throwing Castiel a playful wink, and Castiel feels marginally better; if Dean can find it in himself to make light of his past indiscretions, then perhaps the fallout won't be so bad.

"N'ah," Gabriel huffs, "Cassie never brought anyone over. I think he was scared we might, I don't know, hurt them, or something."

"And I'd be right." Castiel supplies, to which Gabriel gripes, finger wagging. 

"Maybe. But some of your dates definitely had it coming."

Castiel deflates at that, drops his eyes, shoulders slumping because his brother is right. "I misjudged the situation with April." He admits, staring at Dean's hands, admiring their size and strength, the girth of his fingers, the power behind their touch, and he swallows, stomach doing a funny little flip-flop. "There were clear rules and boundaries set forth prior to our...encounter. I accepted them and thought she had as well."

"Well obviously she didn't." Gabriel snorts, well aware of his brother's kinks and the rules he strictly adheres to. 

"Gabriel, I-"

"That nut-job went from playing it 'rough'," Gabriel accuses, voice rising, "to actually trying to kill you." He pats Castiel on the shoulder, snorts, "Bro, you sure do know how to pick 'em."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Dean asks.

"Nothing." Gabriel grins. "Except that Cassie has the worst taste in partners." He points at Dean, and laughs, "Present company excluded, of course." 

"Gabe-"

"Don't Gabe me, Cassie. Admit it, you have shitty taste in partners. I mean, come on, you even slept with Meg!" 

"Gabriel!"

"What?!"

"This is serious." Castiel levels his brother with a withering glare, furious with him, mortified for himself, so he scowls, it's a warning to behave, but Gabriel refuses to back down.

"Serious?" He fires back, amber eyes aflame. "Well, so am I."

"Drop it-"

"You fucked up, Cassie. Got sloppy, let yourself get caught. Nearly got yourself killed. And FYI," he grits, looking over at Dean, "the reason we didn't get any information from your boyfriend's 'date'," he mocks, nostrils flaring, "was because Michael was too busy carving her up into little pieces to bother asking her any questions!"

It's like a punch in the gut, not what Michael did to April (it was Castiel's idea, after all) but the fact that Dean _now_ knows the depraved depths the Miltons will sink, in order to exact their vengeance.

"Gabriel," Castiel says, staring daggers at his brother, "mind your tongue."

"Or else what?" Gabriel snorts, cavalier, cocky, because he is _not_ afraid of Castiel. 

At least for the most part.

"Whatever." He sighs, slumping back and reining in his temper. "I'll shut up, but..." A heavy sigh, a weary heart, "it's just...she hurt you bad, Cassie. Really bad." Gabriel takes a deep breath, exhales a heavy whoosh of air, then grins, "And I'm glad Michael hurt her."

"Heh, think I'm starting to like this Michael." Dean smirks, breaking the tension, and Gabriel laughs out loud.

"Funny you should say that." Gabriel cries out, pointing at Dean. "He likes you too! Right, Cassie." But Castiel just frowns, and Gabriel shrugs, "Been weirdly fixated on Dean for years. Just like Luke is with Sammy. It actually drove them both nuts when I told them we're dating you two-"

"What?" Twin double takes, then Sam asks. "_'You've_ seen them?"

"Ah..."

"When?" Dean asks, more curious than alarmed. 

"_We_," Castiel stresses, unblinking and unapologetic, "visited our brothers three days ago. Immediately after we briefed Bobby on your kidnapping." 

"Sam." Dean says, and Sam nods, because he's thinking the same thing. 

"What are you two thinking?" Gabriel wants to know.

"Have you met with them before that time?" Sam replies instead, and Gabriel nods, wonders what's the big deal.

"Yeah, a couple of times."

Another silent exchange between Dean and Sam, and Castiel starts to worry. Gabriel reaches for his third piece of pie. 

"What are you thinking?" Castiel asks, but he can guess. "Whatever it is, please believe that Michael and Lucifer would never betray us."

"Whoa!" Gabriel cries out, finally catching on. "You two are way off base!" 

"Gabe-"

"Nah-uh, Sammy. Mike and Luke are on our side. They wouldn't-"

"Then how do you explain Cas' cover being blown?" Dean argues, amped by this unexpected twist; they finally have their connection. "Or my kidnapping?" 

"What do you-"

"We were set up!" Dean exclaims and Castiel's eyes narrow. "Look, the randomness of my kidnapping never made any sense to me, okay. Like, why target me? A federal agent? They'd have to be nuts. Unless..." 

"Unless they were only using you as bait," Sam finishes, and Dean beams. "because Castiel was the one they were really after." 

"Bingo. They knew Cas would come for me, because Michael and Lucifer knew we were, you know, seeing each other."

"Meg ratted us out." Gabriel states, "That's how they knew. Not because of my brothers."

"That's what I thought at first." Dean says, because he did, but not anymore. "But she woulda been exposing herself to one very vengeful witch, if she had."

"You mean Rowena?" Sam asks and Dean nods.

"Alistair," Dean swallows, grimacing, "was Rowena's nephew. Her freakin 'beloved' nephew." Dean rubs at the back of his neck, eyes far away, then snorts, "Damn," he huffs, grinning, "if Rowena ever finds out about Meg's role in his death-"

"Meg? I thought it was Castiel that killed him."

"I did." Castiel says, and Dean squeezes his hand. "But it was Meg who eliminated his watchers and made sure I wouldn't be disturbed when I finally got him alone. And afterwards, she disposed of his body." 

"Watchers?"

"Yes, they were his body guards, of a sort. Hired by Rowena to protect him from, well, me I suppose."

"Geesh," Gabriel whistles, "and I thought our family had issues."

"Alright," Sam says, clapping his hands, "so if we all agree it wasn't Meg, then it had to have been-"

"Not my brothers."

"Then who, Gabe?"

"Tell you what though," Dean taps on the table top, and they all look his way, "whoever did do it, sicced Gordon after Cas." 

"Abby stationed that nitwit outside the shed. She-"

"But why?" Dean counters, pressing the issue. "Rowena only posted two guards around me because she wanted to keep my kidnapping quiet, and to make it look like an easy rescue for Cas. That's why she _only_ brought her best fighters, Ruby and Abbadon, with her. I'm betting she didn't even know Gordon was lurking around." 

"So you think my brothers," Gabriel laughs, on the defensive, because Dean's theory is ridiculous, "who, lets not forget, are locked away, purposely put Cassie's life in danger? Got you kidnapped? And are also responsible for our fathers' murders?"

Dean opens his mouth to reply, then closes it. Partly because he's not completely sure what he believes. But mainly, because of the look in Castiel's eyes. "Cas," He finally says, placing his hand atop Castiel's, "I don't think you're brothers betrayed us." And it's the truth; Michael and Lucifer Milton may be the country's most prized prisoner's with the deadliest reputation, but they'd burn the world to embers, if it meant keeping a loved one safe.

"But it doesn't mean they haven't been sharing information."

"No Dean. My brothers would never-"

"Not intentionally." Dean squeezes Castiel's hand again, a reassuring gesture. "But what if someone else was listening in when you and Gabriel told them about our plans. Hm?" 

"Dean's right." Sam adds, nodding along to everything Dean just said,. "Gordon can't be Crowley's only spy."

"And that's exactly what I've been trying to get at." Dean says, stressing, "Even though Michael and Lucifer are isolated, there's still the guards outside their cells, the ones that serve their meals, thier doctors, priests. Anyone of them coulda been eavesdropping, learn what we were planning, then run off to report to Crowley or Rowena. Maybe even to our mysterious third player." 

Relief floods Castiel, and he exhales, draws a breath, and confesses, "That never crossed my mind." 

Dean smiles at Castiel, holds him fast in his gaze, and Castiel blushes, "Rowena knew about our plans, because they heard you tell your brothers."

"Dean, I never-"

"Not your fault, baby."

"Okay!" Sam jumps in, speaking louder than necessary, knowing by the look in Dean's eyes that his brother is done with this conversation, and is itching to whisk Castiel, back to bed. So he serves Dean another slice of pie as an incentive to linger a little longer, and urges, "What are we missing, Dean? And where does April fit in?" 

A hearty bite, a healthy swallow, a swig of beer to wash it all down. "Whoever," Dean starts, mouth full, "was ballsy enough to assassinate Chuck, would have no problem killing an FBI agent, or," he stresses, "kidnapping his kid."

"Pah-leese," Gabriel huffs, making a d'uh face, "looking for a connection between pop's death and Cassie's kidnapping was the first thing we did. And we found nothing, nada, zilch. Plus those two incidents were years apart."

"Gabriel is right." Castiel supplies, recalling his lengthy recovery, his bothers fury, and most chilling of all, his father's inexplicable decision to call off the investigation, after April's death. "Despite the fact that Michael's interrogation yielded no results-"

"Interrogation?" Gabriel laughs. "More like, 'he lost his head, then she lost hers'-" 

"Nevertheless," Castiel plows on, amused despite the seriousness of the subject, "my father and brothers were thorough in their search for my kidnappers. And we," he says, nodding to his brother, "as well as Michael and Lucifer, interviewed everyone even mildly connected to our family, after our father was killed." 

"Yeah, we were thorough." Gabriel gives Castiel a thumbs-up, adds, "Even after dad told us to drop our investigation with April, we still kept on looking for answers. And the same goes for him. I'm telling you, we checked everything, looked every where, talked to everyone-"

"Even Ruby?"

"Well, no. I mean," Gabriel looks at his brother, and Castiel shakes his head, "none of us questioned _her_. She and Luke were dating at the time Cassie was abducted, and also when dad died. She actually helped a lot. Guess we figured she woulda said something if she knew something we could use." 

"Not if she was involved." Dean counters, stabbing at his pie and chewing it with gusto. "I say we pay her a visit. And while we're at it," he adds, eyes on Gabriel, "let's see what information _you_ can 'coax' from that psycho, Abbadon."

"I'll give it a shot." Gabriel shrugs, but Sam frowns.

"Won't be easy." Sam says, not liking the idea one bit. "Not with the broken jaw and busted wrist Castiel gave her." 

"Then Ruby it is." Dean announces, done with his pie. "We can start with her first thing. But this time," he cautions, pulling away from the table and taking Castiel by the hand, "Michael and Luke can't know what we're up to. Not until we find out who's been spying on them."


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean reaches out, touches cold sheets, and can't help but feel disappointed. He sits up, looks around the room, but there's no Castiel, no coffee sitting on his night stand, not even a crummy note. "Probably in the kitchen making breakfast." He mutters, because where else would Castiel be? Especially at this hour.

It's midnight

A long drawn out cry and Dean is two fingers full. "Mmmm..." He groans, he hums, and Castiel hums along, an unconscious moaning that mirrors his lover's pleasure. 

"Dean..." Castiel growls, low and sultry, on his knees with Dean on all fours in front of him. He's hard, he's needy, but he doesn't touch himself. He buries his face in Dean's ass instead, and adds his tongue, laps and stabs at Dean's hole, and Dean howls, pushes back, and Castiel's fingers pump, and he bites at the firm muscle of Dean's perfect ass, and Dean cries out again.

"Fuck!" Dean chokes, dick leaking from the assault. He pulls free and crawls forward, flops onto his back, and rasps, "Suck me off." 

And Castiel dives right in, wraps plush lips around Dean's cock-head and bobs, sucks, and Castiel is so aroused, he gags, because he can't breathe, and just like their first encounter, thinks he could cum just from sucking dick. So he pulls off, and Dean whimpers. 

"Shhh..." Castiel soothes, straddling Dean's lap, placing his palms on Dean's chest, and slowly sliding down Dean's dick, sinking until his ass is flush against Dean's crotch, and both men moan.

"Baby-" Dean exhales, and Castiel throws his head back, braces himself with one hand on Dean's chest, and strokes himself with the other. Fist flying, he swivels his hips, gyrates, and Dean bucks, digs greedy fingers into Castiel's narrow hips, and thrusts and thrusts and thrusts, fucks his lover, pounds Castiel's ass, and Castiel grunts, cries out, and his balls draw tight, feels like molten lead settling in his testes, like a fire licking at his anus, and he can't hold back any longer.

"Dean-" he pants, he grunts, cock throbbing, Castiel cums, spurts semen onto Dean's chest, chin, and Dean opens his mouth, licks his lips, because he's desperate for a taste.

And Castiel obliges, brings his filthy hand to Dean's mouth, and doesn't draw it back until it's spotless. "Good boy." Castiel purrs, cock still hard, body still riding, ass still bouncing, and he wails, because the pleasure is deep and sweet, and the pain is dull, a barely there ache, but one he'll feel for days. 

"Love-" a gasp, a stuttered breath, "-you." And Dean's body locks, hands clamped so tightly onto Castiel that deep colorful bruises bloom shortly thereafter. And Dean's eyes are heavy lidded, and his lips are parted, and Castiel bends forward, takes Dean's face in both hands, and kisses him, swallows his praise, his adoration, and Dean speaks those three magical words again, exhales them into Castiel's open mouth, and spills, and Castiel clenches, milks Dean's dick, and rides him until every precious drop is locked inside his own body.

... 

It's 3am 

"What is it?" Castiel asks, concern furrowing his brow, hand skating gingerly across Dean's bare chest.

Dean shifts and winces again. "Nothing," he says, hissing in pain, "just..."

"Dean?"

More maneuvering, but Dean can't find a comfortable position on his back. So he turns over, lays on his stomach instead, and with his head cradled on his arms, turns to Castiel and smiles. "It's nothing." He promises, but Castiel throws the covers off, and his eyes grow dark. 

Castiel zeros in on Dean's ass, caresses both cheeks, and Dean hums then whimpers, because it hurts, but it also feels great. "Hope you're proud of yourself." Dean snorts, amused, closing his eyes while Castiel inspects his handy work, counts the various dark mottled bruises and visible teeth marks scattered all across Dean's buttocks, and hums in satisfaction. "Hm?" Dean asks again, wiggling his ass when there's no immediate reply. 

But several seconds tick by, and still nothing from Castiel. "Cas-" Dean starts, breath catching when he opens his eyes and finds Castiel staring right back at him. "Most of those will probably scar, you know."

That brings a smile to Castiel's lips. "Good." He says, softly, viciously, then takes Dean's arm and bites him, brands his shoulder with a new mark, then kisses the sting away.

"Ow! What was that for?"

"I like having my mark on you."

"Pretty sure you're into the double digits by now-"

"You're mine." Castiel states, no doubt in his tone. "And now you carry my brand to prove it."

"Sap." Dean drawls, rolling his eyes, but his heart is thudding, thrilled to the core by those words. "A ring would work too, you know." He's teasing, of course, but he's not joking. "I mean, if you want people to think that you and me are..." He swallows and drops his eyes, worried he went too far. 

But he needn't have worried. 

Castiel's mouth is on his the next second, all tongue and clanking teeth, a filthy kiss, possessive and all consuming, and Dean forgets all about his aches and pains, rolls onto his back, and their bodies tangle. "You're hard again." Castiel smiles, all smug satisfaction, taking Dean's erection in hand, tugging and pulling with purpose, and Dean's legs drop open.

"Want you in me." Dean says, voice horse, hiking his hips, grabbing a pillow and tucking it under his ass. It's the perfect angle for penetration, and the sinful sight draws a growl from Castiel. 

And with Dean's ankles on his shoulders, Castiel pushes in, grinds until he's balls deep - slow shallow pulses, almost delicate - then eases out, hovers for a heartbeat, then punches back in, knocks the bed hard against the wall, and pounds away - pounds, pounds, pounds away - and Dean's dick jerks, slaps against his stomach with each successive thrust, and he gasps, and he pants, and he curses, reaches for the headboard, angles his hips at a steeper pitch, and he mewls, pained little cries, because it feels amazing. 

"So eager for my cock." Castiel says, low and dirty, easing Dean's knees to his chest, then completely pulling out. 

"No-" Dean cries, reaching for Castiel. "Come on-" he swallows, gasping for air, spreading his cheeks wider, and stroking his dick. "I'm almost there." He whines, and Castiel chuckles, a throaty rumble Dean would love to wrap himself in. 

"Patience-" Castiel whispers, head between Dean's thighs, examining Dean's hole and prodding at the reddened flesh with the tip of a finger. "We fuck when I say we fuck." He warns, and Dean stops breathing.

"Y, yes-" Dean croaks, throat dry, harder than he's ever been, and impatient for more. But Castiel is in charge this time, so he behaves, lays back, relaxes, then fucking wails when he feels the hot press of Castiel's tongue, lapping at his hole.

And Castiel licks and Castiel sucks, and Dean writhes and Dean squirms, and his hole is sensitive, messy from too little lube and too much spit, it's wrecked and raw, puffy from over use, but it's still so tight, like a vice, and though it's sure to sting, Castiel gets back into position, and rams back in. 

"Holy shit." Dean shouts, awestruck - always awestruck - by Castiel, by his strength, how he instinctively knows what Dean is craving, what Dean needs the most, and when. So Dean moans and Dean begs, and Castiel fucks him harder, sets a furious pace (grunting, teeth gritted, neck corded) then freezing inside Dean, and Dean keens, feels wet heat, hears the obscene repetitive squelch, squelch, squelch, of Castiel's semen filling him, and his toes curl, orgasming with his ass full off cock, and Castiel's name on his lips.

...

It's 5am 

It's still dark out and the house is still soundly sleeping, but nevertheless, something wakes Dean. Is it a noise? A loud thump? Did something hit the floor? It sounded like it came from the kitchen. So Dean holds his breath, strains to listen, and hears it again, and smiles, inhales deeply, and feels his chest fill with warmth. 

It's Castiel brewing coffee, and its delicious aroma beckons Dean all the way from the kitchen. 

"Mm..." He hums, coffee does sound good, but Dean is still so tired, still so sleepy. So he stretches out on his back (joints pleasantly popping) and he yawns and he winces, still sore from their all-night-fuck-fest. 

But Dean is no super agent, he needs at least his four hours of sleep. So he turns onto his side, grabs Castiel's pillow and hugs it, figures he's got at least a few more minutes of snooze time before his doting boyfriend treats him to coffee in bed, and dozes off.

...

Luckily, the coffee container was still sealed when it slipped from Castiel's hand and hit the floor. Luckier still, it landed on the floor mat, rather than crashing onto the marble tile. So it's with a sigh of relief, and very careful handling, that Castiel noiselessly pulls the ceramic mugs from the kitchen cabinets, sets them gingerly on top of the granite counter, and pulls a spoon from a nearby drawer. 

All to soon the kitchen is enveloped in the dark luxurious fragrance (like the best perfume) of the percolating coffee, and Castiel inhales deeply, palms flat on the counter, body lax, legs crossed at the ankles, then spinning (lightening fast) and knocking his would be assailant, to the floor. 

"Gadreel." Castiel hisses, and the downed man smiles up at him. 

"Cousin," Gadreel says, reaching for Castiel, "I never could sneak up on you." 

"Why are you here?" It's the first thing Castiel wonders, so he asks again, "Why are-"

"To bring you home."

"What?" Castiel asks, perplexed. 

"I'm here to bring you home." Gadreel repeats, accepting Castiel's offered hand and climbing to his feet. He leans against the counter, almost hip to hip with Castiel, and Castiel frowns.

"I'm not going anywhere with you." Castiel says, arms crossed, eyes narrowed, he's suspicious, but not sure why. He and Gadreel weren't necessarily close as children, but nevertheless Castiel admired the boy's devotion to his mother. "And I am home."

Gadreel keeps smiling, patient, indulgent. "No you're not, and you know it. I'm talking about _our_ family home, Castiel. And..." he shrugs, toying with a spoon, spinning it in a tight circle, then dropping it. But Castiel catches it before it can hit the floor, and Gadreel applauds. "Your reflexes really are a wonder to behold." 

But Castiel ignores the compliment, more confused by Gadreel's cryptic comments than flattered. 

"Gadreel," Castiel exhales, curt, cold, annoyed; he's already taken far too long fetching coffee, and doesn't want Dean to wake without him by his side. "Whatever you were about to say, say it, then leave. This is not the time or place for this...reunion." 

"Come away with me." Gadreel says softly, but his eyes are hard, like splinters. "I'll make it worth your while." He promises, dragging his hand suggestively up and down Castiel's bare arm.

But Castiel pulls away and snorts, but not meanly; Gadreel was besotted with him as a child, and it seems his crush has grown along with him into manhood. "I'm not sure what you expect from me." He tells Gadreel, but Castiel can guess, and if it's what he suspects (a romantic relationship) then Gadreel is liable to end up knocked on his ass, just like when they were children. "But whatever it is, cousin, today is not a good day for...whatever this is." 

Castiel turns his back on Gadreel, and Gadreel presses closer, so close Castiel can feel the heat from his body, his warm breath against his ear. "I understand you're in mourning." Gadreel whispers, but he's amused, and Castiel bristles, starts turning, lips parted, he's got a thousand questions. But then he stumbles, collapses into Gadreel's waiting arms, and Gadreel tuts.

"Pity, you had to be so stubborn." He tsks, dropping a tender kiss on Castiel's stubbled cheek, while extracting the syringe he'd plunged into Castiel's neck, with his free hand. "Especially when there's nothing left for you here."

He hoists Castiel over his shoulder but staggers under his weight, and unknowingly drops the syringe. He then scans the room, briefly considers going upstairs to eliminate the other Winchester brother, but he quickly reconsiders; Gadreel knows Sam is in bed with Gabriel, and he also knows it's a fight he would not easily win. And besides, his orders were to extract Castiel, not to confront Gabriel, and really, with Castiel as their captive, the remaining Milton brothers will quickly fall in line. 

...

It's 7am

The sun is fully risen, the room is bathed in bright sunshine, and Dean grumbles into his pillow. 

"Close the shades, Cas."

A second goes by then two, but there's no reply, no shift in weight, no soft snore, or slap on the ass warning Dean to be more considerate, so Dean grumbles again. "Cas. Shades."

Nothing.

Dean reaches out, touches cold sheets, and can't help but feel disappointed. He sits up, looks around the room, but there's no Castiel, no coffee sitting on his night stand, not even a crummy note. "Probably in the kitchen making breakfast." He mutters, because where else would Castiel be? Especially at this hour. 

Dean inhales deeply, nose high in the air, and his heart drops: no bacon sizzling, no bread toasting, even the delicious aroma of the coffee he'd sniffed earlier, is no longer detectable.

"Cas?" Dean calls out, pushing past his building dread and climbing out of bed. He pulls on a pair of sweats, walks to the bathroom, but the room is empty, except for Castiel's clothes neatly folded on the vanity. 

"Cas!" Dean shouts, racing from the room and barreling down the stairs. 

"Cas!" He calls out again, then spinning around when Sam and a groggy Gabriel storm into the kitchen. 

"Dean," Sam hisses, gun in hand, "what is it?"

But Dean doesn't reply. He checks the dining and living room first, sees nothing, then heads back to the kitchen, and his stomach drops. 

"Did either of you unlock this door?" He asks, pointing to the kitchen door. 

"No." Both Sam and Gabriel reply, and Dean curses.

"Sonofabitch!"

"What?" Sam snaps, anxious now.

"Hey," Gabriel yawns, "where's Cassie?" 

But Dean doesn't hear them, he walks outside instead, does a quick search of the immediate area, and a minute later, walks back in. "Lock's been picked." He tells them, head pounding, heart acing, turning his focus to the kitchen, and dissecting every inch of the room. 

Then he sees it.

"Is that a...syringe?" Sam asks, taking the almost empty needle from his brother's hand, then sniffing it. "Smells like carfentanil."

"What the hell is carfentanil?" Gabriel asks, fully awake now, and not liking where this is going. 

"It's what they use to sedate elephants." Dean answers, knowing about the drug's effects because he's the one that taught Sam about them in the first place. "It's watered down, and the lowest possible dose," he hopes, because if not, then Castiel is already dead, "but that's definitely it." 

"Okay," Gabriel says, eyes on all of the room's exits. "That's real fascinating. But will someone please tell me where my brother is."

"They got him."

"They got him?" Gabriel parrots, swallowing the bile in his throat. "Who's...they." He asks, but he's got a sinking feeling he already knows. 

"We gotta tell Bobby." Sam cuts in, grabbing the phone and dialing. But Dean snatches it from his hand, and hangs it back up. 

"What are you doing?" Sam practically shrieks, grabbing the phone again. But Dean tears the cord from the wall, and Sam gapes. "What the hell, Dean?" But he knows what Dean intends. "Look, like it or not, we need the FBI. We need their search warrants, we need their back up. We need-"

"Fuck the FBI and their endless red tape." Dean snarls back, bagging the syringe and re-locking the kitchen door, "I'm gonna get Cas-"

"We." Gabriel stresses, pointing to Sam and himself. "The three of us are going to go rescue Cassie."

"Yeah," Sam agrees, running his hands through his long hair, "we are. But all we have is a picked door lock and an almost empty syringe to go by. Not much of lead."

"Sure it is." Dean says, cold hard gleam in his eye. "There's only one place in the state where you can get this type of sedative. And only one doctor with access to it." He tosses the bag on the kitchen table, looks from Sam to Gabriel, and Sam frowns, because he knows exactly to whom Dean is referring.

"The drug could've been stolen, Dean. Or bought in the black market" 

"Maybe," Dean shrugs, "but maybe not. But there's only one way to find out."

"And you expect this doctor to just talk to us " Gabriel asks, physically vibrating with the need to get going. He looks at Sam, sees his own fear reflected in his lover's eyes, and exhales a heavy breath. "I don't know. Maybe Sammy's right. Maybe we should call Singer-"

"No!" Dean snaps, rounding on Gabriel, 'We can't afford to lose time arguing with Bobby." Dean turns, mutters, "Cas doesn't have the time." And heads for the stairs, with Sam and Gabriel at his heels. "We'll go and pay a visit to this doctor." He says, walking towards his bedroom, but stopping when Gabriel calls out. 

"And how can you be sure he'll tell us what we need to know?" He asks, hands in his hair, out of his mind with worry. 

"Trust me." Dean replies, that cold hard gleam glowing even deadlier than before, "He'll talk. Benny and I go way back."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it for now.
> 
> This one felt shorter than the others, right? But it felt natural to end it here, with this cliffhanger. What do you think?
> 
> I'm already working on the next installment, and hope to post it sooner rather than later. I will be bringing back a whole slew of baddies, and our guys will get into some serious scrapes and tangles. But it's all good, I promise.
> 
> Anyway, your comments would thrill me to no end - wink wink.


End file.
